no time left to start again
by Victoria LeRoux
Summary: By the time Peggy hears it, it's old news. Not just a few days past the event, but at least two weeks after the fact. Howard and Maria Stark, dead in a car crash. Welcome to 1992, Peggy Carter.


Title from "American Pie". Betaed at _TheBetaBranch _by red_b_rackham. For Red Tigress, who originally prompted me. Part 3/? for my weekly fic postings.

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_no time left to start again_

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By the time Peggy hears it, it's old news. Not a mere two days past the event, but at least two weeks after the fact. She wouldn't have even noticed if it not for the fact she'd forgotten to cancel her newspaper subscription before she left. Howard must have dropped by at some point and hired someone to gather them up for her – he'd left a note that said _we need to talk _and signed it with a smiley face.

Still, there's a stack of newspapers in her kitchen when she returns. Apparently, Howard had hired someone to get them off her front lawn but _not_ into the trashcan, because there's a month's worth of papers littering her counter. She'd been in Russia, tracking down leads on a suspected cell of the Red Room. Nothing had come back, of course, but hopefully Howard would have some numbers for her to track down. She's an old woman by this point, and all she wants to do is rest. The cover may have been perfect for someone of her age to slide into, but next time she'd leave the ground investigation to someone else.

Peggy pushes a stack of old newspapers out of the way and reaches for her phone to give him a ring. His phone number hasn't changed in years, and she doesn't even need to think about the digits until she hears a voice telling her to _please hang up and try again_.

So Peggy tries again, and again. Even leaves a message on Jarvis' machine, just in case, a simple, "Will you please inform Howard I need to speak with him? It's a matter of some importance."

That little fact done, Peggy moves to place the phone back in its receiver. The cord catches on the way there, and the stack of newspapers goes _everywhere,_ leaving her small kitchen covered in screaming headlines.

She's not above a curse or two – the Howling Commandos had always laughed when she could out yell the whole group, and Jarvis never ceased to be scandalized – and she lets loose. Peggy reaches down to gather the papers, idly skimming the headlines. It won't do to appear out of date, after all. If someone brings up the matter of – she glances down at the front page news, frowning at the picture.

Then she reads the words.

No.

_Not again. Please, not again._

She's shaking, barely able to keep herself upright. It's a simple headline, one designed to grab and keep and hold the attention.

_HOWARD, MARIA STARK DIE IN CAR CRASH._

She doesn't drop the paper – isn't even sure that she could, if she felt at all inclined to – but instead grips it so tightly it crackles audibly in her hands. Her head's gone light, a simple moment of shock. Howard and Maria, dead in a car crash, no it simply couldn't be, because –

There's only one man permitted to drive Howard Stark anywhere, and Peggy can't stand the idea of losing two – three, even, with how well she's gotten to know Maria over the years – of the handful of people she has left in this world.

_Tony._ Oh God, if both of the elder Starks are dead – and what about Jarvis? She still doesn't know about Jarvis, the headline doesn't picture anything more than far-off wreckage of the car. Was Tony in the wreck? Surely not, surely the headline would have mentioned that as well.

She reads the article once, twice, a third time, pouring over the paper desperately and finding nothing beyond the fact that the two Starks were dead, as well as a third victim. No name. Peggy searches desperately, looking in the more recent pictures. No true investigation into Stark's death, not after the discovery that he'd been driving drunk and -

_Damn that man._

The phone is in her hand before she realizes it, and Peggy calls Jarvis' number again. Why hadn't he left her a voicemail? Why had she had to find out about Howard through a newspaper headline? No, no – it was no fault of his own. Peggy had changed her number recently, she can remember that now. She'd meant to update Jarvis on the new number, but it had slipped by in the urgency of the last mission.

She calls again. The phone barely rings twice before it is picked up. Maybe he'd heard her message and hadn't been able to call back.

"Jarvis?" she asks, because her heart's in her throat and it hits her. She's the last Howling Commando, truly she is. She's survived them all, survived the war, survived just about everything the world threw at her, and none of that mattered because Howard and Maria Stark died in a car crash and she couldn't even make their funeral.

"Agent Carter," Jarvis says, but the words cut off abruptly. "Peggy."

His voice is as thick and heavy as her own.

"I… I just saw the news," she says slowly and sinks into her chair. "I… Is Tony okay?"

"He only came to the funeral," Jarvis informs her. "Apparently, he has quite a bit of schoolwork to do."

"He's seventeen," she replies, and there's a bit of anger but also a bit of understanding in her voice. Howard has never been one to treat people like anything more than objectives, and while Maria is – had been – old enough to understand it, Tony didn't even want to try. "How much schoolwork can he have?"

"He's graduating this spring," Jarvis responds, and that's right, she remembers now.

"Again?"

Jarvis makes a noise that might be assent, but Peggy's mind is already spinning away. "I'm leaving SHIELD," she says.

Flat silence, then, "Are you certain?"

Peggy lets out a strangled laugh, voice cracking ever so slightly. "I've spent the last year running down one false lead after another. I'm getting too old for this."

Jarvis doesn't question her after that first remark, just makes a murmur that might be congratulating her retirement or might be questioning her sanity. "I… I too am ready for a change. I think Anna wants to return to her homeland before the end."

_The end. No, Jarvis, not you too._

Peggy doesn't say it, but she's _tired _and suddenly, even the barest conversation is too overwhelming for her. "While I was away, Howard left a note. Do you know what he wanted?"

A silence, as Jarvis likely thought through the last interactions he'd had with the man. At last, he sighs. "No," he says. "I know he was working on something related to Russia, but his work died with him."

"Thank you," Peggy says. "Do visit me before you leave."

Jarvis says something that may be agreement, and they make their goodbyes. As the line goes dead, Peggy slowly hangs up the phone and drops her head into her hands.

Steve. Dum Dum Dugan. Howard Stark. Jacques Dernier. Gabe Jones. Jim Morita, Bucky Barnes, Jack Thompson, Daniel Sousa, even dear old Angie –

Maybe Peggy will be the last of her kind, the final remnant of a time long past. Just her and Jarvis left, and then their era will be gone for good.

She scrawls her resignation in a sloppy hand, the letters bleeding into each other until her signature is nearly illegible. When her deputy takes the forms, he stares at her in disbelief.

"I'm ready for a change," she says.

"Agent Carter, this isn't about-"

"It's not," she cuts across him, and maybe her tone's a little harsh because his mouth snaps shut but his eyes widen. "I've been neglecting my family too much. It's time. I'm old, Agent. We both know I should have done this long ago."

And she straightens her back and narrows her eyes and apparently the reputation of Agent Carter is enough to keep his mouth shut, just this time.

"Thank you for your service," he says, and the words have never sounded as empty as they do now. "I relieve you of your duties."

"I stand relieved," she says, and it's true. Honestly, it is. She's spent a lifetime shouldering these duties, and although she wouldn't change a single thing, it's a relief to let them pass to someone else's hands. She's _old_, truly she is, and it's past time she lets the next generation take the weight. She's guided them long enough, and now she's finally ready to admit that her agents are perfectly capable of rising to their next challenge alone.

"Enjoy the new year!" the secretary orders Peggy cheerfully on her way out.

She doesn't look back as she leaves SHIELD, doesn't look back as she walks away from an organization she's built out of blood and sweat and years of her life. It'll be fine without her, she knows. Spies are adaptable, self-reliant. She's grown complacent in her position and should have realized it long before now. She should have curtailed Stark's destructive tendencies before it was too late, should have noticed the signs, should have realized just how old they had all gotten. Maybe Stark's death is the wake-up call she needs, a sign that at some point the world had aged and she'd had no choice but to age with it.

Peggy sighs outside SHIELD HQ, choosing to walk back to her apartment rather than hail a cab. She breathes in the city, nods to a man hawking papers on the street and gives him a dollar. She's passed this spot for years, and it's a bittersweet relief to know she never needs to come back.

Have a happy new year, indeed, Peggy muses. Howard and Maria Stark may be dead, but there's still Jarvis. There's still Tony. She still has Sharon and the rest of the family she's built for herself. Maybe it will be a happy new year, by the end.

The only way to find out is to live it.

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